an old writer and his words

I have goneby many names,some chosen,some inherited,some thrown at mein anger,in scorn,in friendship. Names addnothing to whoI am, whoI choose to be,who I am seento be by the thosewho throw aroundnames as ifthey were magicalincantations, elixirswith great powerthat fallat my feetlike shatteredicicles of mynot caring.